A Twisted Turn of Events
by Mrs Orange1
Summary: An AU story based entirely on the synopsis and trailer. "I'm Whitey, this is Whitey's cab." He cut her off, barely giving her chance to process anything before he continued. "And while you're in Whitey's cab you have to follow Whitey's rules."


**Chapter 1**

A dampness swept through the stale London air. Terraced houses fell silent and paint peeled shop fronts were racked up for the night in caged shutters. Streetlamps buzzed and flickered, their sputtering orange glow reflected in small pools of rain water on the broken concrete. Traffic lights halted absent cars and roads fell silent in the still night air. The streets were mainly empty at this time of night; at least in this part of town anyway.  
Mainly.

A black cab quickly sped around the corner, its engine roaring as it raced down the deserted road ignoring all red stoplights.  
"Three minutes twenty six seconds to get to Carroll Lane...leaving two minutes five seconds to get petrol...late again." The cab driver muttered to himself under his breath, pushing a little more on the accelerator causing the engine to whine at a higher pitch.

He had an east London accent, a cockney 'geezer' by all accounts. He was oddly dressed for a cab driver. A beige trilby hat perched on the top of his head concealing dark untamed hair beneath. He wore informal jeans and trainers, a long sleeved grey top and a chestnut coloured leather waistcoat. His neck was adorned in various chains and medallions which jangled as he yanked the steering wheel this way and that. His sleeves were rolled up revealing watches strapped to his wrists, at least two on each arm.

Without losing any speed, the man suddenly stomped on the brake pedal, causing the cab to come to a screeching halt besides the pavement. As he jerked forward, he braced himself against the steering wheel. Dropping back into his seat, he glanced up at his rear view mirror which had a rabbit's foot dangling from it.  
"Springthorpe Avenue. Fourteen pounds thirty six. Have a nice night." He had an odd fast way of talking, saying things all at once in one long ramble.

Whitey leaned back, twisting and looping his arm around the passenger seat and looking at a slightly shaken pale faced man in the back. His lips curved into a smile as the man paid him then exited his cab and scurried off into the night. He began counting to money, penny by penny, mumbling as he did so. Once he was satisfied, he stuffed it into a pocket. And with that, he floored the accelerator pedal and with another screech of the tyres, sped into the night. Punctuality, it seemed, was as important to Whitey as breathing.

His eyes frequently flicked from the road to his wrist watches, counting the minutes, the seconds. His speed crept over the thirty mark but luckily he knew this place like the back of his hand. He knew where every speed camera stood and where every copper on the night shift would lie in wait. Not that there were many of those in Wonderland. The local police force were for the most part, just as corrupt as everyone else.  
"Two minutes..." He trailed off, peering outside for a moment at a woman with an odd looking hat on. Oh yes, all the weirdos came out at night, didn't he know it. What was that, two minutes and what? The man narrowed his eyes, trying to read the dial on his watch. Two minutes and...OH SHI-!  
He glanced up in time to see a lampost heading in his direction, or rather, the other way around. He wasn't quite sure. He yanked the wheel, the cab swerved. The brakes screeched. A woman in the road came into view. Of course it was way too late by now.  
"Oh shit!" Whitey yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and hearing the thump of the young woman's head against the bonnet of his cab. The brakes screamed and the vehicle came to a halt.

Opening his eyes again, he cautiously peered over the dashboard to see a delicate figure laying in the middle of the road. She looked a little younger than him. A blue laced dress surrounded her small frame. Her blonde hair poured out from her headband falling over her face and spilling on to the tarmac. Her flawless skin was a shade of porcelain and her eyes were closed.

Great. He'd killed her. As if he wasn't late enough already.

Opening the car door, he quickly scrambled out of the cab but hesitated before going near her. Maybe he should just do one. What was the average sentence for a hit and run these days anyway?  
He took a few apprehensive steps toward her then abruptly stopped and recoiled, turning back on himself. Maybe he'd just leave her there, it's not like he hadn't done that before….

Releasing an irritated outburst of breath, he reluctantly strode back toward her, mumbling to himself. Once he reached the motionless figure, he crouched down at her side.  
"You alright love?" No answer. She wasn't moving. "Oi! Love?!" He asked a little louder as though that would actually help. Still no response. He stood up straight and lifted both wrists to glance at the various watches strapped to them. He scowled, panic now starting to rise in his voice.  
"Look at the time, look at the bloody time! Nine minutes there, three minutes here, I'm late in two places at once!" There was really no time to be hauling dead bodies around.

He clenched his jaw as an old couple came ambling down the road. They looked suspiciously at him as they drew nearer.  
"Alright?" He lifted his head and gave a smile but they just looked more horrified as their gaze settled on the woman in the road. "Is she-"  
"Fine. She's fine." Whitey cut off the old man. "Just uh…bit too much of the ol' drink….you know kids these da- come on up we get!" He suddenly reached down, now noticing her eyelids were flickering a little. Thank. God. No jail sentence for him!

Yet.

He looped an arm round her waist and hoisted her into a somewhat standing position, supporting all of her weight. He quickly glanced over each shoulder before guiding her to the back of his cab under the scrupilous gaze of the old couple. Well if it didn't look dodgy before, it certainly did now.  
Shoving her into the back of the vehicle as quickly as he could, he climbed back into the driver's side and hastily started the engine.  
"Four minutes thirteen seconds." He muttered glancing up in the rear view mirror at the unconscious female laying across his backseat. "You've set me back an extra two minutes. She won't be happy. She's never happy." And with that, he sped off into the night.


End file.
